Raffy the Sparrowhawk
Raffy's pouch of shot is closed once again. With a simple blunted stick he rams the shot down the barrel, tamping it tight against the charge and makes sure he sees a puff of black powder spray out of the breech. He crams his match into the flint and ***** the hammer.
Hearing Hans' scream from the front, Raffy curses to himself. Why didn't he run? Goddamn brave peasants.
It doesn't occur to him that he is technically a peasant - brave or not - as well. He thinks of himself as a burger and that's that.
"Run for it, Hans!"
he bellows, and leaps up onto the front wall of the wagon.